


As We Sleep VI

by Crowgirl



Series: Scars Remind Us [51]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Demonic Possession, Demons, Dreams, M/M, Nightmares, PTSD, Possession
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-09
Updated: 2012-09-09
Packaged: 2017-11-13 22:13:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/508259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crowgirl/pseuds/Crowgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ongoing discussion, and ramifications thereof, between Dean and Castiel about the after-effects of Hell.</p>
            </blockquote>





	As We Sleep VI

LI.

Dean dreams.

  


_The room is deserted, the table empty, but Dean can feel eyes on him as he steps forward._

_‘Well? What are you waiting for?’ He turns around, looking for any signs of the demons he knows should be thronging the space. ‘C’mon!’_

_‘Come back among us, have you?’ Oriana’s voice is behind his shoulder and he just barely restrains himself from whipping around._

_Dean grins sharply at nothing. ‘Oh, you know I miss you, baby.’ Shit. If he gives the game away, the whole plan might be shot. He makes himself stand still._

_There’s no reply and Dean turns, slowly, unwilling to let her have the pleasure of seeing him discomfited even though he knows he should. But there’s no-one there. There’s a flare of heat on his left arm and Dean turns again to find nothing but a cold, empty room._

_‘Well, we must give you something to occupy your time.’ Oriana’s sweet, poisonous voice drifts through the air._

_Dean stands where he is and waits._

_‘Now what can we find --’ Something flickers into existence on the table -- the cracked, pitted, notched table that he could re-build with his eyes shut -- and Oriana is sitting there, small as a child, swinging her feet, and watching him with eyes like black stones._

_Dean swallows hard and forces himself to stay where he is. Even knowing he’s supposed to be in charge of this fiasco doesn’t help. What good does being in charge do him? She could turn him inside out from across the room and she knows it. He sees her and he wants to run like a fucking rabbit._

_Oriana watches him, swinging her feet, nibbling at the edge of a thumbnail like a child with a candy stick. After a few moments, she swings herself off the table and claps her hands. ‘I know!’_

_The room is abruptly full, swarming with demons and Dean is jostled forward until he is within a foot or two of the table. Oriana has perched herself on the edge again. She is long and lanky now, her familiar female body. She grins at him and strokes the table. ‘Come back to your old haunts at last?’_

_Dean stays silent, watching her._

_‘Now --’ She takes a long step and is somehow beside him, a hand on his shoulder. ‘Now this is not our dream -- is it?’ She glances around the room and the crowd murmurs with her. ‘So it must be -- someone else’s.’ She circles Dean, fingers on his shoulder as if to keep him in place._

_Dean keeps himself in place with an effort, feeling her fingernails sharp on his skin and-- wait, when had he lost his shirt? Fuck, he wants that back \-- but no matter what he does, his skin stays bare._

_‘But you don’t know what we can do...do you, Winchester?’ Her breath on his cheek is hot and foul and he winces away before he can stop himself. She laughs and her nails dig deeper into the back of his arm. ‘Even after all your time here, all your time killing us, hunting us, torturing us -- you don’t know what we can do.’_

_‘I never tortured any--’ Dean bites his tongue hard as she laughs, stepping away from him and motioning to the crowd, mugging like a cheap comedian, and the crowd laughs with her. It’s a rough, jarring noise -- not like amusement at all._

_‘Forty years you spent here, Winchester. We all know what you did!’ Oriana jeers at him, then, suddenly, she’s beside him again, a hand on his breast, a sharp nail tracing a bloody line that follows the curve of the muscle. ‘But you don’t know what we can do. Even with a dream from your little pet angel.’ She breathes the last words against his cheek, a rush of hot, meat-smelling air, and then she’s back on the table, crouching like a cat ready to spring._

_‘Now -- what shall we do with our guest?’ She motions and two other demons step up beside her, facing Dean. The others fade but he’s perfectly aware they’re still watching._

_‘What shall it be....’ She strokes her chin with a long-nailed hand, miming thoughtfulness. She leans forward and whispers in the ear of one demon who grins, showing sharp yellow fangs -- and the next minute is Lisa Braeden._

_‘Jesus...’ Dean closes his eyes for a minute: praying or wishing or just cursing, he’s not sure which._

_‘Or perhaps this is better?’_

_He opens his eyes -- and Castiel is standing by Lisa’s side._

_‘No -- no, fucking--’ Dean takes a step forward and Lisa has vanished, Oriana is standing beside him, and Castiel is bound in her place._

_‘I should have guessed, really.’_

_‘What, bitch?’_

_‘Oh, temper.’ She laughs and steps past him, trailing a hand over Castiel’s -- the demon’s, he reminds himself, digging his nails into his palms -- shoulder. ‘Now, where shall we start?’ _

_Dean can’t stop himself. ‘Don’t you fucking dare\--’_

_Before he can even finish the sentence, he’s looking at himself._

_Oriana takes a step back from the table and gestures. Shocked into stillness for a moment, Dean watches his second self slip onto the table and run hands that are like his own down to the handcuff scar from the stupid vampire over Castiel’s pale skin -- no, not Castiel, not himself but--_

_‘But how do you know?’ Oriana breathes the words against his ear. ‘You closed your eyes -- for all you know, this is your darling little angel.’_

_‘You couldn’t,’ Dean grits out, feeling his nails dig into his palms as he clenches his fists. Castiel -- not Castiel isn’t making a sound as the other Dean slowly travels up his body, running hands and mouth over unmarked skin. _

_‘You think he’s so strong, don’t you?’ She sounds genuinely curious. ‘I suppose...in comparison to you...he is.’_

_‘In comparison to you.’_

_She laughs -- and this time it sounds almost real, almost cheerful. ‘I wouldn’t bet your last dollar on that, Dean. We’ve done it to other angels. For all you know, we ripped off his wings, tore out his tongue, and he’s there...’ Her hand snakes over Dean’s shoulder, pointing at the table where Dean can see himself stroking over Castiel’s hips as the other Castiel writhes, whether trying to get away or get closer Dean can’t tell. ‘...right there. Screaming himself raw inside -- and you won’t help him. Can’t help him.’ Her hand slips over his shoulder and down his chest, tweaking painfully at his nipple. ‘Don’t want to help him. You like him like this--want him like this--’_

_‘I am gonna kill you, bitch.’ Dean is surprised that his voice works, but it does: gravelly and sharp, but it works._

_She laughs again. ‘You’ve tried, Winchester -- and neither you or your precious little guardian could do it.’_

  


Castiel waits.

Dean has been sleeping peacefully, curled on his side, head pillowed on one crooked arm. 

Castiel has wedged himself into the other corner, his back to the new metal panel Bobby had fixed in place, legs crossed comfortably. 

The light has slowly faded as the van drives on and now it is almost fully dark when Dean stirs, mumbles, and stretches.

‘Dean?’ Castiel comes alert immediately. Dean is not supposed to wake for some hours yet. 

‘Cas...’ Dean rolls over towards him and opens black eyes. 

Castiel scrambles to his feet, crouching to balance himself against the sway of the van. ‘Who are you?’

‘Does it matter?’ The demon in Dean’s flesh stretches himself, yawns widely, then pushes himself to his knees. 

Castiel considers for a second, then reaches out, pressing his fingertips to Dean’s forehead. ‘No.’

A flash of light, a faint scream, and the demon is gone. Castiel catches Dean as he collapses -- still soundly asleep and completely unconscious of the last few minutes. 

He cradles Dean for a moment, dropping his forehead against Dean’s shoulder, inhaling the smell of warm skin and leather and metal that always seems to cling around the younger man. 

‘Miss me?’ 

Castiel jerks back and Dean grins up at him, black-eyed.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "Anthem of the Angels," Breaking Benjamin, _Dear Agony._


End file.
